Gemotions

She found herself at the gallery again, a place she hadn't visited in years. The vibrant canvases, once a source of solace and joy, now felt like a painful reminder. Her daughter, Maya, had inherited her love of painting. Her artistic talent was evident, her exhibitions successful. Sarah, however, had long since abandoned her brushes.

She recalled the sharp edge of her criticism, the way she had nitpicked Maya's early work, finding fault in the brushstrokes, the colour palettes, everything. "It's a phase," she'd declared, dismissing the fervent energy she recognized in her daughter. She had wanted something more, a more conventional trajectory for her child. Now, she lingered in the shadows of the gallery, the success of Maya's art a persistent, poignant thrum in her chest.